WE ARE NOT
WHO WE USED TO BE
Novus has not often had the luxury of ignoring Solterra’s affairs. They’ve had a nasty habit of spilling over.
The nerve of the reply astounds him so much Orestes laughs aloud. Ariel is not far behind; an unimpressed guffaw that is more or less a loud yawn. If August had wondered about the Sun Lion’s teeth, the curiosity could be sated.
Yet Orestes’s smile is not unkind—no, not quite, although the edge of it is as hard as the polished edge of a diamond—when he says, “I do not take offense to much, but the ignorance of that comment is something I have trouble swallowing. I don’t know how long you’ve been in Novus—perhaps longer than me—but everything I’ve garnered of it’s history suggests an aggressive apathy toward the affairs of Solterra. If you speak of Raum, he never belonged to Solterra. He was a mad king from another god who took his fury to our desert and made us bleed. Those that came to defeat him were cleaning up a mess that should have ended in their Court, before his madness ever had a chance to reach the city of the sun.” Orestes no longer finds it strange he speaks of Solterra as if he belongs there; as if he was there. In many ways, the hardness of his voice is derived from the simple fact he has been cleaning up the aftermath since arriving on the shores of Novus. “And, aside from that, I cannot remember ever hearing a story of any Court intervening when Zolin took the throne, made slaves of children, concubines of citizens, and starved the city with his gluttonous appetites. No. I am quite certain the continent was satisfied to let us rot. Perhaps the disparities between our city’s gods aren’t so lost in the past after all, eh? If our tragedies have spilled over, it has quite a bit to do with the apathy of others. Once, were each of us not brother and sister? And how does the saying go—I am my sister’s keeper? My brother’s guardian? These things are forgotten in this land.”
Orestes does not often speak this much; but he will not stand to hear of how Solterra’s affairs spilled over to impact others; evil only grows through tolerance, or the weakness both of the state and of those around it.
Ariel presses forward; he drops from the boughs of the trees and nears August with a languid stride. The Sun Lion stops to measure the stallion and then steps out beyond, to rest at Orestes’s hooves. There is nothing subservient about it; in fact the entire gesture seems measured, a political ploy to remind the king that one man is not responsible for all of Novus’s sins, despite a flippant tongue.
Orestes sighs heavily. “But I am sure you are not here to discuss politics or history. It is a pleasure to meet you, August. Forgive my less than polite welcome, and—my, well, my passion on the subject of my country.” The other palomino’s smile has softened him. “Thank you for the compliments. If you would like, Ariel and I would be more than happy to give you a tour.” It seems impolite to inform the visitor that his tattoos are actually magical scars binding his Soul, and so Orestes refrains. He attempts to remind himself that there are no "off" days, or moments to be less than a Sovereign--to be only a man. No.
Like that, the Sun King has transformed from confrontational to gracious. He gestures from the tree, toward an intricate brickwork meandering further into the garden.
☀☀☀
"Orestes" || "Ariel." || @August
